A-J Remembers: Writer/photographer remembers newsroom of the past

Friday

Editor's Note: These memories recall experiences from the mid-20th century A-J newsroom.

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The home of the Avalanche-Journal, as completed in 1959 at 710 Ave. J, was essentially a building without windows.

On the entire second floor where the newsroom, page makeup area and Linotype machines were located, there was only one narrow window in what was known then as the Coffee Shop. Actually, there was one in each of two editors' offices also, but reporters tended to choose the Coffee Shop instead of venturing into Charley Guy's editor domain or the editorial writer's office to look outside. The large newsroom itself could almost be used as a darkroom for developing film when the lights were off.

Still, the building was total luxury after the facilities at 1211-1213 Texas Ave. had been laid to rest.

I had been inside the newsroom of that building only once, and not as a staff member. While there briefly, I saw papers strewn about, and looking at the wooden floors, it seemed a fire hazard. Others said a part of the Texas Avenue building had been reinforced by adding timbers to keep it from sagging.

So, when I began working at the Avalanche-Journal in February 1960, I remember no one complaining about the new, modern building without windows. Besides, it had one of the most sophisticated photo labs this side of Dallas, and I was working as a combination photographer and lab technician.

Darkrooms had been set up on opposite sides of a large office area, and the one on the south had a partition down the middle so that two independent photo printing and processing lines could be used simultaneously. In addition, two small film processing rooms were so lightproof that 4-by-5-inch sheets of film could be placed in stainless steel hangers for processing in total darkness.

The north darkroom area had all the equipment for a third film and print processing operation, plus a large storage area for supplies.

Like today, reporters took a fair number of pictures for the newspaper's content, and they would come in before an assignment to check out the camera and film that they needed.

Those who were considered photographers had the same equipment — a 4-by-5 graphic, green canvas bag and 12 exposures of film — to cover a fire, train derailment or a Texas Tech football game. That may be one reason why text tended to dominate space in the newspaper of the early 1960s.

So, it was pioneering work when we experimented with roll film cameras because a second or even third 12-exposure roll of film could be taken on assignments. As for 35mm cameras, it was almost as hard to thread a 36-exposure roll between the camera's picture box and pressure plate, then into a take up reel, as it was to load the 4-by-5 cameras. Besides, a decent film speed in terms of light sensitivity produced a grain pattern that could be seen in anything larger than a 5-by-7 print.

At the time that Sen. John F. Kennedy came to town campaigning for the presidency, I took along my roll film camera with the eye-level viewfinder. Later, the Avalanche-Journal purchased Yashica twin-lens reflex roll-film cameras for reporters to use. But looking down onto the glass viewfinder at waist level made the images reversed left to right, and it was difficult to follow action events without inadvertently pointing the camera in the opposite direction.

No one, though, was grieved at the departure of the ponderous 4-by-5 Graphic cameras and their limited capacities.

Everything seemed to take time in the early 1960s. A photo sent to Associated Press for distribution to subscribers was attached face up on a round drum that was scanned for seven or eight minutes while it was going out by telephone wire.

There was a formal procedure for alerting the Dallas office where most transmissions were sent before being made available across the network. The greeting of, "Hello, Dallas. This is Lubbock," became shortened to the terse, "Dallas, Lubbock." On the once or twice-a-year times when pictures were sent to New York for distribution, there was the standard alert: "New York, Lubbock." That was always met by a brief silence, followed by the inevitable, "Where?"

We were never sure if it was honesty or a put down.

In about three years, the editor approved my transfer to that of petroleum writing. The Permian Basin producing region stretched from above Lubbock to below Midland, and the previous oil reporter had a mind and memory that needed no filing system. Every inch of his desk was cluttered to a depth of about four inches with press releases, petroleum statistics and other material he might need. I was shocked to see him leaf through a particular stack and bring out the exact sheet that was needed. I had no ability to do that, so to survive, I resorted to an organized desk with file folders, and put loose objects in a drawer.

As nearly as I can remember, oil was selling for about $10 a barrel at that time.

Reporters wrote their copy with manual Underwood typewriters and newsprint. Everything was double spaced so that typographical errors and corrections could be penciled in above the offending word. Then the finished story was read by editors and copy readers before being sent to typesetters.

Somehow, and maybe it was because there were more bodies at more desks, deadlines seemed later then than they are now in the age of technology, when corrections to copy can be made instantly on a TV screen.

Electric typewriters were added later, then a transition phase in which tapes were given to Linotype operators to automatically produce type.

Page layouts were done on a column-lined pad with pencils — and erasers. I was laying out the Sunday oil page on the Friday when President Kennedy was assassinated. The page had to be done, with headlines written, even while history was breaking inside the wire room where Associated Press reports were coming from the printing machines. It was a temptation to stop other work and watch the wire, but the page also had to be finished. There would be time to find out fully what had happened a little later.

The petroleum pages always needed a picture, and a familiarity with photography made that an intriguing search — literally, a search. There would be a time when I would take a staff car and go out to the oil fields to get some kind of picturesque version of a derrick or an oil pump.

There could be moments of dismay in looking for an oil rig to photograph. On one occasion I was driving on an unpaved road near Anton, when the car's left front tire went flat. It shouldn't have been a problem, just a few minutes to figure out how to work the bumper jack and change the tire. But I found the trunk where the spare tire should have been, was completely empty. No spare tire.

A farmer came by in a few minutes on his way back to work in his field and stopped to see what the trouble was. He simply loaned me his pickup and asked me to bring it back and park it on the side of the road with the keys in it. After getting the flat fixed in town, I took the pickup back, left the keys in it, and as far as I know, it wasn't stolen.

The Avalanche-Journal building at that time was actually smaller than it is now. On the west side of the building was a parking lot that extended out to the street. Later, that was taken up by an addition to the building with new presses — and some windows were added.

The May 11 tornado in 1970 also effected changes, at least to desks. Some of those needed repair, and larger tops were added to them.

The former break room, which then was the Coffee Shop, sold hamburger, sandwiches and other menu items. Even the mayor of Lubbock, Dirk West, would come across the street from his office to occasionally eat at the A-J. And during the times when cheerful managers such as Terry Osborn kept food prepared at the Coffee Shop, it was a kind of psychological oasis from the sometimes stress of the newsroom.

Computers for reporters at the A-J came in stages, I remember. The first ones were very basic, kind of word processors, then upgraded to improved versions until Windows XP and Dell computers were introduced. And now, advanced systems with publishing systems.

Business writing was eventually added to my petroleum writing job, and later I was transferred to general features. That has given me the type of writing that I had always wanted to do, and still is an exhilarating work because of the people and stories that come this way.

And photography, which is how I started at the Avalanche-Journal, is still part of the job. I'm glad it is — it has been the common thread of my work from 1960 to 2018.

The real difference in photography has been the change from 12 4-by-5 shots with a Graphic camera and a darkroom in which to process film, to a 35mm size single-lens reflex camera and a memory card with 2,000 shots that can be read into a computer in full daylight.

Technology has its advantages.

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